


when the air that we breathe becomes air that we choke

by ohbutmydarling



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loss of Parent(s), Mental Instability, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Parent Pepper Potts, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohbutmydarling/pseuds/ohbutmydarling
Summary: Peter drowns.Not literally (although maybe, he thinks, just maybe, that might be for the best). Water floods his lungs, and the worst part is it actually doesn't.But it does. He feels that insatiable burn, he screams, and bubbles race one another to break the surface. Peter does not break the surface. He can't.He drowns.And then he wakes.---------------See, the thing about drowning is: Peter doesn't mind it.He doesn't mind it at all.





	when the air that we breathe becomes air that we choke

Peter drowns.

Not literally (although maybe, he thinks, just maybe, that might be for the best). Water floods his lungs, and the worst part is it actually doesn't.

But it does. He feels that insatiable burn, he screams, and bubbles race one another to break the surface. Peter does not break the surface. He can't.

He drowns.

And then he wakes.

* * *

See, the thing about drowning is: Peter doesn't mind it.

He doesn't mind it at all.

* * *

"You haven't eaten in three days."

This is how she greets him. No more, _yo, dork number one_ or even a mild, _sup, loser?_ MJ is not like she used to be.

(Nothing is like it used to be.)

Peter looks at dusk in eyes that once reminded him of sunrise, and he wonders if she's drowning, too.

(He wonders if she likes it as much as he does.)

"Of course I have." Peter picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. Stares at it. Breathes, shallow and frail; saltwater gurgles, but nothing comes up. "Just because you haven't seen-"

"Your hands are shaking."

So they are. "And?"

Now MJ breathes, but her breath is deep and clean. Not drowning, then. She holds it long. Steady.

"Just..." Her gaze fixes on a blank point over his shoulder. Warm air presses from her chest without a hitch. Nothing gurgles. "Let me know if you need anything. If you need to talk about anything. Serious shit, dumb shit - whatever. Okay?"

He won't, because he can't, because this is not within a hundred mile radius of his capacity to verbalize, but he nods, anyway.

And though it isn't, Peter says, "Okay."

Waves of lunchroom din overtake them.

* * *

Waves overtake him.

 _For the best,_ Peter must remind himself again and again, needle skipping on a broken record.

It's for the best.

* * *

"I'm...Peter. Dude. I'm worried about you."

Of course Ned is worried. Who isn't? That's all anyone seems able to do nowadays. They worry, worry, worry.

(Or maybe that's just him.)

"No reason to be worried, man." Peter feeds him a tight smile, lips bound together by sutures. "I'm fine. Totally okay."

And he isn't, and it has to be so obvious. Still, Ned doesn't push. Peter is thankful for that - rather, he would be, if he could. He doesn't feel much of anything today, let alone thankfulness.

Those days are growing more common, all blurring together and broken only by scarce hours of muddled despair. That's okay. Everything's okay.

(It's not.)

(He's not.)

* * *

See, the thing about drowning is: Peter wants it. He _craves_ it.

He needs it.

As he stares through a darkened bedroom at the framed picture of him and Tony the two remaining Starks insisted he keep, midnight city ambience sounding from the streets below, Peter's pillow becomes a lake. Tears are the water he swims in - the water he inhales.

It's for the best.

* * *

May does not voice her concerns. Not the same way everyone else does, at least.

She shows it through lingering hugs, through forehead kisses. A hand that takes time out of a weekday morning rush to caress his cheek, and a voice that says so softly, "You know I love you, baby. You know that, right?"

"'Course, May. I love you."

 _Three thousand_ leaves a sour taste on the tip of his tongue before Peter swallows it, forces the words to his stomach where they rage, hornet-mad. It takes all his willpower not to vomit on the kitchen floor right then and there.

The fact that MJ is correct - he hasn't eaten in days - helps.

That night, Peter hears May crying in the shower, and pretends he doesn't. 

* * *

To drown is to die.

Peter knows this.

He likes to think he is, at this point, rather intimately acquainted with death. He has seen it. He has felt its brutal shockwaves.

He has known it firsthand.

It wasn't so bad.

* * *

Air bubbles flee him like he is something to fear, and he lets them go.

Peter drowns.

It isn't so bad. 

* * *

_Pepper Potts-Stark is calling. Should I put her through?_

Even his AI sounds concerned. Had she feet to walk, her steps would be on eggshells. Distantly, Peter thinks that should probably be a wake up call. His craving for the sea's depths should not be so profound even an artificial intelligence can sense his warring emotions. It just isn't normal.

But then, Peter Parker has never been one for normality.

Nothing makes this concept ring truer than his current predicament, poised over the railing of the Queensboro Bridge with his heels beginning to slip and a mere three fingers holding him upright. Peter stares at roiling little waves, a feeling burning in his chest with such intensity that he can only describe it as lust.

"No," he says, dull, lifeless. "Ignore call."

There is a long pause. Wind billows around the mask.

"Connecting you to Pepper Potts-Stark."

" _Karen!_ What-"

"Hey, Peter." Pepper speaks soft and slow, as if trying to talk a jumper down from a rooftop, which - yeah. Alright. That's fair. "How have you been holding up?"

_(I'm drowning. Please, please, save me.)_

_(I'm fine. Let me drown. It's for the best.)_

"Well enough."

"Mmhm. And is that why the emergency alert protocol in your suit just pinged my phone to let me know you're precariously close to falling off Queensboro Bridge? Because you're doing well?"

Peter chokes on a sob. The ferocity of it shocks him to his core. He hasn't made the slightest noise while he cried since-

_We won, Mister Stark. We won._

"I want this," he whispers, then sniffles. His voice shakes, cracks. "This...this is for the best."

"Morgan wanted to see you this weekend."

Peter freezes. "W-what?"

"Morgan. She asked if you could come over again, maybe spend the night. I think she wants to paint your nails." There is a watery laugh. Pepper's words, too, begin to tremble. "She really loves you, you know. You're her second favorite bedtime story."

Peter doesn't need to ask who the first is. "I - I l-love her, too."

"I know, sweetheart. So why don't you go home and get some sleep, hm? I'll call May in the morning and ask if it's alright for you to come over after school on Friday. Happy can pick you up. Sound good?"

Peter hesitates. One finger slips, and then-

And then both palms wrap vice-tight around the railing.

He steps back.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, that - that sounds good. We...we can do that."

Pepper makes no effort to hide the fact she's crying. For the first time in weeks, something other than pure agony swirls in Peter's gut: guilt.

"Good," she says. "Get down, love. Go home. Get some rest."

"I...yeah. I will."

And he does.

* * *

See, the thing about drowning is: you aren't the only one who drowns.

They drown with you.

* * *

Air bubbles escape him, fleeing this watery grave, and race until they break the surface. He kicks, and follows them up.

* * *

Peter breathes.


End file.
